Heirloom
by Dorian Herestor
Summary: Little Legolas is curious about the bow that his father keeps in his room and goes to investigate. Unfortunatly, Thranduil finds him playing with the said bow. Fluffy father-son moment. One-shot!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Yeah, it's Sundy afternoon, it's hot, there is nothing on the tube and I'm sick. In other words, the perfect day for some fan fic writing. I had this idea while watching The Borgias on Project Free Tv - yeah, right, LotR = The Borgias, but hey, what the Hell. Plus, I'm completly addicted to Legolas fanfic, and I've been wanting to write one for a long time, but I haven't had any inspiration. Oh, also, this is my first LotR fanfic and the third time I ever wrote in English, so expect some grammatical errors, okay!**

**Disclaimer: "_I am Tolkien. I own these characters._" Darling, if you believe that, then you are a moron.**

**(Just for those who do not understand, no, I am not Tolkien, no I do NOT own any of these characters, and no, I do not make any profit with this fic.)**

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><p><strong>Heirloom<strong>

**By**

**Dorian Herestor**

It was early in the afternoon, and all the elves had gone outside, to the many and beautiful gardens that surrounded the great Hall of King Thranduil. That is, all but one. The light _thump-thumping_ sound made by very small and quick feet against the tiled floor echoed throughout the empty corridors.

The footsteps belonged to a very small, fair elfling, barely more than a toddler by the accounts of his race, although he was almost two decades old. The little creature dashed through the unoccupied hallways as fast as his short legs could muster, frequently looking behind his small shoulder to see if he was being followed.

His destination was a pair of great double-doors at the end of his Halls' top floor. With all the conspicuity of a three year old, he looked around himself for any witnesses, and then, seeing for the thousandth time that he was in fact alone, he stretched his short body upwards as far as he could, and on the tips of his tiptoes he managed to turn the big doorknob

The bedroom was big and airy, decorated in many light tones of greens and blues, silvers and gold, with a huge private balcony and a bed bigger than the elflings' own. He crossed the room to the desk against the wall at one corner. He leaped onto the chair, and glared at what laid in front of him. On top of the desk laid a big leather case that looked both old and worn. The little elfling opened it, and his big bright eyes grew round at the sight of what rested inside.

He'd seen his _ada_ tend to it, cleaning it, polishing it, testing it's…tension, whatever that was, but he'd never actually touched it. He would be in big, big trouble if his _ada_ ever found out! But he was curious; he just wanted to see it.

He picked up the ancient bow with all his care. It was so pretty! It was of dark wood and it had silver and golden drawings of leafs and other thingies on it. The elfling leaped to the floor, bringing the ancient bow with him. It was almost twice as tall as him! He tried to pull the string, like he'd seen his _adas_' captains and warriors do, but he found he couldn't; the bow was too strong, or he wasn't strong enough. Still, he tried and tried again, wincing, determined to shoot an invisible arrow.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" said a deep, hard, male voice behind him. "A little thief in my chambers."

The elfling turned quickly, startled by the intruder, and tried hide the bow behind his back.

King Thranduil of Mirkwood took a step forward towards the little elfling, looking down at the young creature with deadly serious eyes that would make stronger men run away, crying to their mothers.

"Do you know what the leaders of the Old Empire did to thieves?" Thranduil asked, too calmly. The elfling shook his head, his bright eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets. "They had the hand that stole cut off and fed to the beast."

The elfling looked down at his shoes, feeling his eyes filling with tears. His _ada_ was mad at him. He gulped. "I wasn't stealing" he said meekly. He looked up, eyes bright with sad guilty tears. "I... I just wanted to look at it."

Thranduil sighed. He knew this day would come, had known ever since his son had caught him tending to the ancient bow. He should have satisfied his son's curiosity back then, but didn't, afraid that the elfing wouldn't understand the meaning of the bow, or worse, that he would understand what that old weapon meant to Thranduil. Now, he had no choice. He knelt down in front of his son.

"Legolas" he said. "give me the bow."

Without taking his eyes from his shoes, his son obeyed. Thranduil checked for any damage young, untrained hands could have caused on the relic, checked the tension. He sighed. Yesterday night he had tended it, and hadn't had any time to put it way in its safe place. He should have guessed his curious son would take the opportunity to see it by himself.

He placed his big, strong had on his elflings' thin shoulder.

"Legolas, look at me." He ordered. When his son obeyed, his heart nearly broke at the sight of that trembling lower lip. "You should not play with this, _ion nin_. This is no toy. This bow belonged to your grandfather Oropher, and his father before him, and _his_ father before him. It is an heirloom that has been in our family since time immemorial."

He remembered the day he received it like it had been yesterday. His ada had given to him on his death bed, in a middle of a battle field, of which only Thranduil and few others of his kin had survived. No, it was no toy; it was a memory of his father, who had died saving his sons' life with the same bow that Thranduils' son had been caught holding moments ago. The same bow that one day, millennia from now, would be Legolas'.

"Here, take it, _ion nin_," he gave the bow to his little son. "Show me what you where doing."

He bit back a smile. The weapon was nearly twice the size of his son, and his elfling couldn't even draw the string. Yet, his small hand was in the right place, his short fingers in the right position, he looked straight ahead, his small feet slightly apart; his stance was perfect, and even though he could neither lift the weapon nor draw the string, Thranduil saw that his Legolas was one with the bow. It would be a couple of years until Legolas started his warrior training and, based with what Thranduil was seeing, when he did…he would be formidable.

And then, watching his son, is _ion_, is precious Legolas struggling with the bow of his forefathers, Thranduil saw him, saw is ion, as an elfling, as a beautiful, tiny newborn, as a grown elf, a fine, beautiful elf; saw him grown, in clad of green and brown, with his own bow, the finest of the fine, the best of Middle Earth, facing danger, spiders, orcs, facing evil, powerful, virile; saw him protecting his forest, looking after his people, his friends, loving his family; later, much later , Thranduil saw his son sitting in the throne he now sat on, wearing the circlet he now wore, not as Prince Legolas Thranduilion, but as King Legolas Thranduilion, and, by his side, the same bow he now held, the bow of Oropher and of those before him.

_"Ai, ada, how I wish you could see you grandson. You would have been proud." _

His little Legolas looked at the ancient bow with a quizzical look in his eyes.

"Ada, why can't I dwaw the stwing?"

This time Thranduil couldn't fight it. He chuckled. "You are too young,_ ion nin_." He wrapped his son with his arms, keeping him close to his chest, where he could protection, where nothing could harm him, and gave his fair head a smacking kiss. "Don't worry, _tithen las_, wait a few years, and I'll give you your own bow."

Legolas looked up from his fathers' chest, eyes bright with eagerness.

"Really?"

Thranduil of Mirkwood nodded, and kissed his son again. "I promise."

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><p><strong>Please tell me if you found any typo or grammatical error.<strong>

**C'mon, click on that purple button that says "Review". It's all right, go ahead.**


	2. Author's Note

Author's Note

Dear readers, you may have noticed that my stories _Walking in the Air, Heirloom, Why? _And_ Jewels of the Realms _are now published under the author Dorian Herestor. My previous penname was Chaell Virato, but a friend of mine decided to log in with a penname very similar to mine, so after an argument that ended with us yelling at each other because of the doll she had broken ten years ago, I decided to yield and changed my penname from Chaell Virato to Dorian Herestor, which I actually like a lot.

Of course, knowing her, she'll probably change her penname about 3 times within the week, but hey, what the hell! As long she doesn't make me change mine again, it's fine.

Dorian Herestor, former known as Chaell Virato


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